


Bad Day

by pianoforeplay



Category: due South
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-18
Updated: 2011-01-18
Packaged: 2017-10-14 20:54:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/153365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pianoforeplay/pseuds/pianoforeplay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fraser's having a bad day and Ray decides to make it good again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad Day

For reasons that don't need exploring at this juncture, Fraser is having a very bad day. Which is saying a lot actually, considering bad luck seems to follow Fraser just about everywhere he goes. Trouble hikes through miles of barren ice fields, weathers sun, rain, snow and wind and crosses _international borders_ to be with Fraser, that's how intimate the two of them are. So, all things considered, it definitely appears that Fraser is having a Very Bad Day.

It's so bad that Ray can read it in every movement Fraser makes, every twitch of an eyebrow, every agitated tap to his hat, every word he's holding back. To say Ray finds it unnerving is an understatement and he finds himself giving Fraser a wide berth as they walk up the stairs to his apartment. He knows better than to outright ask by now. He knows Fraser would only give answers that aren't really answers at all, which would just put _Ray_ in a bad mood and then an argument would break out and Ray's willing to bet that if the almost-certain ensuing argument came to blows, he would absolutely not win.

So, he keeps his mouth shut and keeps walking. He opens the door to his apartment and ushers Fraser inside, silently motioning him to take a seat on the couch as he wanders into the kitchen to grab a few beers. He knows Fraser doesn't drink, but maybe tonight he can change his mind. And if he doesn't... hell, Ray will just drink it for him. Nothing to lose here.

When he heads back into the living room, he sees Fraser sitting straight on the couch. Well, as straight as he can given that his head is tilted back and his eyes are closed. Ray thinks this is probably the closest that Fraser ever gets to _slouching_ and he's suddenly torn between finding that amusing (in a freakish kind of way) and finding it worrying. He's never seen Fraser slouch before.

He walks up behind him and taps the butt of one of the beer bottles gently against the top of Fraser's head and gives a small smile as Fraser's eyes open to meet his. "Hey, buddy. Drink up."

Fraser lets out a sigh and pulls himself into that straight-as-a-board position while scratching at the back of his neck and shaking his head. "No, Ray. But, thank you."

Okay, so maybe that was the wrong approach.

Ray grumbles a bit and walks around to sit beside him, kind of crawling onto the cushions on his knees and shoving the bottle into Fraser's hand, his voice more forceful. "Drink. I promise it'll make you feel better."

Fraser accepts the bottle, but makes no move to drink from it and Ray stares at him a moment, waiting patiently. After a second or two, Ray's had enough of waiting and he can feel a frown tugging at his lips, so with his eyes still on Fraser's, he takes a quick swig from his bottle and then gives a short, challenging nod and glances back down at Fraser's hand. "There, see? Pretty easy."

But, that just makes Fraser frown in return. "I know how to drink, Ray."

"Yeah?" He juts his chin out. "Prove it."

And that earns him the tried and true crease between the eyebrows and that _look_ , that look that Ray swears Fraser saves for Ray and Ray alone. Or maybe it's the look that only Ray can manage to bring out of him. Whichever. Doesn't really matter. It's a nice look, actually, he thinks. If he tries to ignore the fact that Fraser's usually incredibly pissed off at him when he's giving it.

But, it doesn't make him back down. Never does. And he's just about to reach forward and forcibly _make_ Fraser drink the damn beer when Fraser finally lifts his arm and takes a quick taste, his eyes never leaving Ray's face.

Ray waits for Fraser to swallow (and no, it's not just an excuse to stare at Fraser's neck) before sitting back a little, his arm reaching out to squeeze Fraser's shoulder as he gives a bright smile. "There you go," and a light pat on the back of his neck as he swallows another sip of his own beer. "You've just taken your first step to recovery, my friend. A few more bottles and you won't remember a thing."

:::

Fraser sinks back into the thick cushions of Ray's couch and lets out a quiet groan as his eyes slip closed for just a moment, an act that allows him to focus briefly on his other four sense. Beyond the gentle hum of his own breathing, he can hear the television, the sounds of a crowd cheering and over-enthusiastic commentary combine to create a lulling white noise. The air feels thick and heavy around him, the bitter aroma of alcohol pervading every pore as Fraser takes in a slow breath.

Despite Ray's small frame, he certainly knows how to take up his share of space and Fraser is acutely aware of the thigh pressed firmly against his own. He swallows a little, suddenly feeling a bit suffocated in his tunic and lifts a hand to tug the collar away from his throat.

The motion causes Ray to glance over at him. "You okay there, Frase?"

Fraser nods and clears his throat a bit before hiding it with another quick drink.

"You know, for not being much of a drinker, you sure know how to pack 'em away." Ray says, smiling at him.

Fraser gives a little nervous laugh and feels the heat rise to his face. He tries to respond with some sort of explanation, but then Ray is taking another slow taste of his beer, tongue flicking quickly over the rim and suddenly Fraser's mouth is dry and his breath is sticking in his throat. Ray glances at him again and gives a wink, which Fraser has to tear his eyes away from before he manages to do something completely irrational.

He tries to force himself to focus on the television, but that endeavor becomes increasingly difficult as the images slip and slide and blur together. The sounds are muddled and confusing and it's not as though he's ever particularly cared for baseball to begin with. Ray, however, seems enthralled by it, his eyes only leaving the screen to glance at Fraser every once in awhile or to lift the bottle to his lips. (And no, Fraser hasn't noticed the way Ray's very long fingers wrap around that bottle at all, thank you kindly.)

Fraser knows alcohol gives the false impression of warmth, but he somehow thinks the night's heavy intake of Heineken has little to do with the way his tunic currently feels more like a parka. And when Ray shifts his weight on the sofa and grumbles "bathroom" in a slurred explanation and Fraser feels a surge of heat straight through as Ray grabs and uses his shoulder for leverage, it becomes all the more clear.

:::

So it turns out, Fraser has an incredibly high tolerance for alcohol and it takes a bit more than a 'few' bottles to loosen him up. In fact, Ray's pretty far down the road to out-and-out intoxication by the time Fraser's managed to get even mildly tipsy. Or at least it seems that way to him, but it's difficult to tell when he's busy seeing double of everything (and that's not all a bad place to be given the current eye fodder, frankly.)

He's stumbling back down the hallway after making use of the bathroom for something like the fifth time in the last hour when he collides hard with Fraser who, apparently, has a bladder much more human-like than his liver. Ray can't think of any other reason for Fraser to be off the couch, anyway.

Oh, and okay, Fraser's tunic is gone - when exactly did that happen? - and he only notices because he's suddenly clutching smooth cotton instead of scratchy wool when he grapples for Fraser's arm in a thoroughly clumsy attempt to keep from toppling over. His head's swimming and his vision is blurred with brown and blue and white-where-there-should-be-red just before the back of his head whacks against the wall - and where the hell did _that_ come from? - and he has just enough time to wince and open his mouth with a pissy remark before he's being silenced by wet and warm and _insistent_ and--

 _Jesus._ What the--

He squirms a little and moans more than a little and then there's a thigh pressed between his legs and there's no _way_ he can possibly get hard with how much alcohol he's consumed, but his body doesn't seem to be much for keeping up with biological realities at the moment. He sucks in a gulp of air as his mouth is released and shivers hard as Fraser's tongue finds his ear.

" _Fraser_ \--" The sound is choked, lodged in his throat, but he's far beyond the point of caring and anyway, he doubts Fraser is really listening. He feels a bite at his neck and lets out another whine as his hips arch against the firm pressure between his thighs; his hands move from forearms to chest to waist to hips and tug, tug _hard_ at thick fabric - and god _damn_ these fucking suspenders are a pain in the ass - and finally, fucking _finally_ he can reach skin. Really really hot skin, too, that shivers under his fingers. And smooth. Smooth all the way up, smooth over stomach and ribs and chest and oh... oh, there's a nipple. Hard little point just below the pad of his thumb and it's like a button he's pushed as Fraser's body shudders just slightly, pressing him closer to the wall, making him grunt. Making them _both_ grunt, he realizes, as he feels a short, hot breath of air on his neck.

And then Fraser's pulling away abruptly and Ray's scrambling to keep his hold because this is too good, _far_ too good, to end now and he doesn't give a damn if they both regret it tomorrow or don't even remember it at all. He just needs it to _happen_. The contradicting movements result in Fraser attempting to catch him and then heave them both towards the couch. They miss, of course, and Ray's lucky his skull doesn't smash into the coffee table, but he doesn't have time to really dwell on it too much before Fraser's crawling over him, clawing at his shirt, shoving it up under Ray's arms and Ray's trying his best to accommodate him, but it's clumsy and awkward and then Fraser's _biting_ at his _stomach_ and Ray just-- just gives up altogether.

His head falls back against the floor and fuck is he going to have a bruise there tomorrow what with the wall and the floor and who-knows-what-else by the time Fraser gets done with him. Not that he has time to think about that because Fraser's _tongue_ is now trailing lower and Fraser's _hands_ are at the front of his jeans and there are teeth - _teeth!_ \- and before he can stop himself, his hips are arching up, thrusting, wanting more, _needing_ more, needing that heat and that breath and that wet on him _now_. Now before he explodes and it becomes a fucking non-issue entirely.

And then it's there, he's there, and Ray's eyes spring open because fucking _fuck_ does Fraser have a wide mouth. Wide and deep and _hot_ and he's being swallowed fucking _whole_ , here. He swears he can feel Fraser's tongue down to his toes, down to his fingertips, down to the base of his spine and every point in between. And he shouldn't be surprised; he's seen that tongue in action, after all. Hell, he's fucking _fixated_ on that tongue in action. But not like this. Because Fraser's tongue is making seriously goddamn intimate with Ray's dick, to the point that Fraser's _lips_ are making friendly with his _balls_ and Jesus _fuck_ where did Fraser learn this stuff? Is this a required course in Mountie School? Is it a Canadian thing? If he were to try to become a citizen, would he have to pass a blowjob aptitude test? Because this... fuck, _this_ can only come from _years_ of practice.

He can feel the sweat collecting all over his body, making his jeans damp behind his knees, making his shirt stick to his chest and armpits, making his hair stick to his forehead and he lets out a heavy pant, the sound strangled in his throat as he tries to lift his head.

And that was a mistake. Big fucking mistake. But, damn is it a good one. Because now he can see his cock, see it slick with Fraser's spit, see it slipping into Fraser's mouth, see the way Fraser's tongue flicks over the head and then... then he just barely catches the flash of blue of Fraser's eyes before -- before, oh God-- oh _God_ , it's-- and he feels something grab him by his spine, grab and _shake_ him until he can't see, can't hear, can't fucking _breathe_ and his heart is threatening to beat and thrash and claw its way out of his chest before he cries out and shudders and falls back to the carpet, gasping and raw.

It's another moment or two before he can hear again, the faint sound of wet lips and bare skin. Cool air. He doesn't want to open his eyes, doesn't want to acknowledge much of anything, but then he feels a warm hand on his hip and a warm, heavy body spreading over him. His arms come up and around instinctively and hold on and he can't help a close-mouthed smile as sticky lips brush over his jaw. When feels the blunt hardness pressed against his hip, he can't hold back a hungry growl.

He thinks briefly of reciprocation and as Fraser's hips roll against him, he wants nothing more than to give it. But he knows that at this particular moment, there's no way in hell he could do the job to his true ability and while he may not be an oral master like Mr. Benton Fraser here, Ray knows how to give head. And give head he will. Once the world stops spinning and his heart stops pounding and he can make sense of this evening, which he hopes happens sometime tomorrow afternoon after a few ibuprofens and a very long nap.

As it is, Fraser's still rubbing gently against his hip and Ray still has enough presence of mind to slip a hand up the back of his shirt, which is as much for his own pleasure as Fraser's. He can feel tight muscle under sweat-slick skin, muscle that clenches with each rock of his hips, each low grunt. And Ray presses up against him, offers himself and murmurs thickly against Fraser's ear. "Oh yeah... oh yeah, Fraser... use me, take me, fuck me..." And that's all it takes apparently because he can _feel_ the shudder run down Fraser's spine as he convulses and he holds tight, holds on to the both of them before those muscles relax and he can feel Fraser's chest filling with air again.

Ray has no idea how long they just lie there and he doesn't really care, but eventually Fraser stirs and Ray opens his eyes and Fraser smiles and Ray smiles and Fraser says, "You're right, Ray. I feel much better."

 **end.**

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to jigofspite for the beta and to frog4 for spending half an hour very seriously contemplating the kind of beer Ray would drink. This fic is for shihadchick, who was having a bad day and needed a little pick-me-up. Initially posted [here](http://pianoforeplay.livejournal.com/8937.html) on 3/02/2006.


End file.
